


Carry On/Questions

by Songstress of Solomon (Azalea542)



Series: Never Seen a Bluer Sky [2]
Category: Cowboy Bebop (Anime)
Genre: F/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23036986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azalea542/pseuds/Songstress%20of%20Solomon
Summary: Faye and Jet deal with Spike’s absence, finding much angst and even some humor.
Series: Never Seen a Bluer Sky [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654762
Kudos: 4





	Carry On/Questions

Jet Black sat waiting at the console. He had been up all night; it was morning now, but he would not rest until Spike came back, or…He preferred not to think about what Laughing Bull had said. That Spike wasn’t coming back, not this time. But his thoughts refused to move on to more pleasant matters. After Spike had left after dinner, Jet tried to do housework, as if doing chores meant everything was the same as it always was. But his misery became too much, and he had gone to the refrigerator to get something to drink, his footsteps slow and heavy. So now he sat waiting, another bottle of beer in his hand.

The video phone rang. Jet let it ring, scowling to himself. Finally, with a grunt, he hit the answer button. “Yeah?”

It was the Doctor, an unlicensed medical practitioner who took cases for patients who couldn’t use mainstream resources. Jet had seen him recently when his leg had been wounded. “Jet, you at the _Bebop_? Didn’t you hear those explosions?”

“Oh, so that’s what they were,” Jet said flatly.

“I thought you might be here—” Jet took it the Doctor meant whatever undisclosed location he was at. “—But I didn’t see you…” He was talking rapidly, as if big things had been happening quickly. Jet stared at him, his good hand tightening around the beer bottle.

The Doctor stared back.

And each knew what the other was thinking.

Finally, the Doctor spoke. “Jet, Spike’s dead. He was dead before I got to him.”

The bottle of beer suddenly shattered into fragments, lacerating Jet’s hand as it did so. He swore under his breath. “Damn sonovabitch. Why’d he have to go and get himself killed?”

“Did you hurt yourself?

“I’ll take care of it myself,” Jet said simply, thinking the Doctor was just looking for business. “Just tell me what you know.” Waiting for the Doctor to continue, Jet leaned his forehead against his cyber fist and tried to collect himself. _You grow accustomed to having someone around,_ he mused. _Then you have to get used to that person **not** being around. The time inbetween is so damned unreal._

The Doctor reported as best he could on Spike’s death. And that apparently Vicious and Spike had mortally wounded each other. Faye came in. Abruptly, Jet signed off, but Faye noticed the broken glass and small pools of blood on the floor, and recognized the man fading off the screen.

“Jet, what’s wrong?” There was an urgency to her voice.

Jet stood up. “It’s..ahem. Excuse me. There seems to be a bit of phlegm stuck in my throat.”

Faye’s wide eyes showed alarm. “It’s about Spike, isn’t it? What happened to him? Is he all right?”

Jet looked down at the floor. “Faye..Spike is..” 

Faye filled in the rest. Turning towards the wall, she whispered, “We knew this would happen.”

Jet finished anyway, so she would know for certain. “Spike..he’s dead.”

“That bastard!” Faye shouted. “Well, he got what he damned well de—” Her angry voice faltered. “He got what he deser—” Still, she couldn’t finish, her throat becoming choked with unwilling sobs.

Jet tried to place a gentle hand on her shoulder, forgetting it was bleeding. Shrieking frantically, she broke away, then ran down the corridor so she could grieve in privacy.

She had been holding on to the faintest hope that he would survive. They had all thought he would die the night he went out to face Wen, but he had come back in one piece. And there were other times when he suffered such grievous injuries, like when he fell from a cathedral window, or was attacked by a mad man, but he had pulled through. No reason this time should have been any different.

Faye sighed as she lay on her bed. She noted the track of each tear—into her ear, off her face and onto the floor, or sinking between her lips. “Nothing matters It’s all meaningless It doesn’t matter we just think it does…” she uttered over and over again, as though it were a mantra. _Oh, why is this effecting me so much? Like I care! The bastard never even gave me the time of day. I should just be like ‘good riddance’! Instead, I’m bawling my eyes out like a widow. Damn you, Spike! I hate you!_ She started talking to him aloud. “We could’ve been together, Spike. Could’ve belonged to each other. I bet you were one hell of a lover.” Why had he left her, when his other woman was already dead? “I know I’m attractive,” Faye muttered to herself. “I have big boobs, shapely legs, a cute belly button. What more could a guy want?” _But apparently, Spike saw in me something he didn’t like._

Maybe her fickleness, her capriciousness. But she had changed since he first met her. She wasn’t as bad as she used to be. Did any of that matter?

She thought of her lost home in Singapore. Faye’s memory had come back, but not all at once. Rather it was in the process of coming back, bit by bit, in dreams and daydreams that taunted her with images of a warm setting surrounded by loving family and friends. 

“Things that once were, that can never be again. Things that could’ve been, and now never will be.” She put her pistol to her head and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Maybe she had emptied the gun out shooting in the air after Spike’s departing form. “Damn it!” She could have sworn she had one bullet left. “Damn it damn it damn it!”

Jet walked in. “If you’re gonna cry, put that gun down. It’s a dangerous combination.”

Faye hurled the pistol across the room, narrowly missing Jet’s head. Faye gasped, sitting up. “I didn’t mean for it to hit you, I swear!”

“See, I told you it was dangerous!” Jet snapped.

Faye lay back down. “Everything’s gone. I have nowhere to belong to. No place in the universe. I guess I better get going. I’ve worn out my welcome here.” 

She stood, and Jet blocked her way. “Now hold on, girly. I ain’t lettin’ you go anywhere in that state of mind. Wandering around the solar system like a lost pup.” His breath stank of the liquor he had downed to console himself, but he still seemed totally in control. “You’re staying here.”

“Who are you to tell me--? You’re just saying that ‘cause Ed and Ein ain’t here to keep you company.”

“I’m asking you to stay here. For now.”

She met his gaze. “Okay, Jet. For now.”

Jet picked up Faye’s weapon off the floor, and walked away.

Faye blinked before realizing exactly what had happened. “Hey, give me my gun!”

“I’m confiscating it until you’re in a healthier state of mind,” Jet explained, not looking back at her.

“You don’t have any legal right to do that!” she insisted, catching up with him.

“I’m the captain of this ship.”

“Oh, so, you’re a captain now! Well, excuse me, Captain Black! What am I, an ensign?”

Jet scowled. “Look, I just don’t want you blowing your brains out! Is that so wrong?”

“I’ll be good,” she said meekly.

He looked at her dubiously.

“I promise,” she added.

“Like I can trust a promise coming from you.”

“Wherever you hide it, I’ll find it!”

“Maybe.”

“Just how long do you intend to keep it?”

“A day or two. I’ll give it back sooner if we find any bounty.”

She looked down at the floor. “Okay. I really don’t need the gun right now anyway.”

Jet smiled and patted her head. “If you’re really good, I’ll promote you to first mate.”

“Oh, goody,” Faye said with a sarcasm she was not quite up to feeling.

Jet left. Faye remained where she was and shrugged. “Huh. Someone cares if I live or die.”

“Bob says Spike’s body is at the morgue,” Jet reported. “We can go down there and—”

“What about Julia? Is she there?” Faye asked.

“Mmph. Probably.”

“We should bury them together, Jet.” She surprised herself with her own words.

Jet, too, was surprised. “Why do you want--?” he began, realizing the full extent of the feelings Faye had for Spike.

She held up a hand to halt his speech. “After all the trouble he went through to be with her, it’s only fitting that they finally get to be together.”

“Weren’t you falling in love with Spike?”

Tears choked her words. Finally, she muttered, “Shut up, Jet!”

Jet held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, I just—”

“Yes, I was in love,” Faye admitted crankily, clenching her fists. “Like some fool. But I’ll tell you something—this proves my love is true. Not some stupid crush. Right?”

“It’s real nice of ya, Faye,” Jet said gently. “You know, I think you’re maturing.”

“Don’t say that!”

Faye and Jet went down the morgue to officially identify and claim the bodies of Spike and Julia. Both Faye and Jet silently stared at Spike’s lifeless form for a minute or two, noting the long, fatal katana slash in his chest. “It’s him,” Faye mumbled finally. “It doesn’t look exactly like him anymore. But he looks sweet.”

“He looks asleep?” Jet asked. “Yeah, they say that a lot.”

“No, he looks _sweet_. Like he never was in life.” Faye leaned over the corpse. She kissed him fully on the lips, hoping to get a taste of what their passion might have been like. “Ewww, he’s frigid!”

“That’s what happens when you’re _dead_!” Jet snapped.

Faye lingered over Spike a moment longer. Tears dropped from her eyes and onto his cheek, as though he were crying. “Poor Spike. You idiot.”

Jet turned to the adjacent table. “So this is Julia. Pretty.”

“She was prettier alive.” Faye sighed. “Just like Romeo and Juliet. That slash didn’t kill him—she did.”

A man came and took Jet aside to sign some forms. Faye stood by Spike, and found herself trying to see under the blanket. Startling her, Jet roughly grabbed her arm with his cyber hand, and pulled her away. “Don’t ogle dead people, Faye! Have you no shame at all?”

“I didn’t mean it—I never got to…Well…” 

Faye was rummaging under the bed in Spike’s cabin. They needed photographs of him and Julia for the wake, and Faye hoped Spike had kept some. She pushed aside some books about weapons and bounty hunters and copies of Bruce Lee’s movies. She pulled out a large tin box, and blew dust off of it. Inside were a few photos of varying sizes. The first was of two mechanics—Doohan and Miles, she believed were their names—with Spike sitting in the background, apparently pouting. Then there was a sepia photograph of the _Bebop_ family—Faye thought of it that way now, although it had been a quite dysfunctional family. There was herself, Jet (though you couldn’t see much of his face), Ed holding Ein up, and Spike, looking as sullen as James Dean. Faye couldn’t remember the name of the nice, but pushy professional photographer who had taken it. Then there was a compromising photo of her! Faye knew it had been from a time in her life when she had a short stint as a pin-up girl, until Spike and Jet ruined everything by busting her publisher. Why was Spike keeping this? To use against her, or dare she imagine, did he like to ogle her? 

Next, there was a photo of some woman who looked like a clerk Faye had seen in a convenience store, an Oriental man she felt she knew, but couldn’t place, and someone who looked like Spike facially, but had a short and tame haircut. Hmmm…was it Spike? Some relative, a father, perhaps? 

Faye unfolded a large piece of paper. It was a “Wanted” poster of her. “Now I know Spike was keeping these pictures to use against me. ‘Wanted: Faye Valentine’. As if! No one wants me except my debt collectors.”

She put the pictures down for a few moments, her attention caught by a ring-bound book. “Hmmm, Spike kept a journal.” She wiped much dust off the cover. “Well, he _did_ at one time. ‘January 1—Hangover. Don’t talk to me.

“‘January 2—Jet made something he calls sweet and sour chicken. If you ask me, it was just plain sour.

“‘January 3—I hate it when the bounty we catch is a better man than me. Scored quite a few woolongs, though. Ordered Chinese take-out. Now _there’s_ sweet and sour chicken!

“‘January 4—Nothing of interest

“‘January 5—Nothing again

“‘January 6—This sucks!’” It was written in huge letters down the page. It was the last entry.

Faye closed the journal. “Men do not know how to keep diaries!” 

She went back to the box of pictures. There was a strip of two photos of Spike with Julia, obviously they had these taken at one of those unmanned photo booths, and Spike had given the other two to Julia. That smile on his face—it was genuine, natural. Nothing cynical about it. She had never seen him looking so happy. “She was the one who made you happy,” Faye realized. “Without her, you didn’t think you had any reason to go on.” 

There was another photo booth strip of four, just of Julia. She looked self-conscious and uncomfortable, not knowing how to pose. Pretty nonetheless. Faye put the photos of Spike and Julia together aside, but continued to look through the contents of the box.

She drew out the last photo. In the picture was a very prepubescent Spike, maybe around six or seven years old, with long, unruly, brunet hair. He was trying to look cool, but obviously had not yet known the meaning of the word jaded. A man and a woman stood behind him. Had to be the parents. Faye wondered what had happened to them. The father didn’t seem to be the same man as in the earlier photo, but it was hard for Faye to tell. There was a dog in this last photo—but didn’t Spike dislike dogs? “Well, you look happy, anyway. Then I guess everything went wrong for ya.” Part of the photo was missing—not torn, but deliberately cut. It looked like there had been someone around Spike’s height that had been standing next to him. Apparently, the kid (so Faye surmised) who had once been in the photo had failed to stay in Spike’s good graces.

“Wish you kept more photos of yourself,” Faye remarked, putting the photo down. “I don’t ever want to forget what you looked like.” She sighed, a sigh that was a combination of a regretful sigh and a lovestruck fool’s sigh. 

“People don’t think when they go and get themselves killed how much it will cost those they left behind,” Jet was heard to grumble, sitting on a seat in the living room.. “Damn selfish son of a bitch.”

“And to think we’re not even related to him by blood,” Faye remarked, standing behind him.

It wasn’t going to be much of a service, but it was the only one Faye and Jet could afford at this time, and they had to go into debt even for that. 

Jet rested his hand on his fist. “We should just dump him and Julia in the water, say a prayer, and be done with it.”

“Well, at least he made a little splash in the solar system news,” Faye pointed out. “Or we wouldn’t be getting money from people he befriended…” Some people were affected by Spike’s death, but it wasn’t practical for them to come. As was the custom with intergalactic funerals, they sent money instead. Among those doing so were Electra Ovila, and Roco Bonnaro’s sister, Stella, whose name neither Jet nor Faye recognized, but they weren’t complaining about the help. The trucker V.T. donated something she called “bet money that Spike earned.” Even the bounty hunter formerly known as Cowboy Andy, in his scatterbrained yet gracious way, sent a generous gift and a supply of his new line of noodle cups. The mechanic extraordinaire known as Doohan also was willing to give money, but he seemed to think the _Swordfish_ reverted to being his property, but after a heated conversation, he forgave Jet and Faye for having sold it and putting the money towards the funeral.

Faye read Stella’s letter aloud to Jet. “‘You may not know me, but Spike helped me out during a difficult time in my life. I said there was something beautiful inside him, which he denied, but I know there was. My life is going fairly well right now, still I do not have lots of money to spare. Please accept this modest donation.’” Faye looked up. “To think, Spike actually befriended somebody!”

“Miracles never cease,” Jet muttered.

That night Faye wandered into the living room. Jet was sitting slumped on a chair, his hand grasping a bottle of liquor. “I suppose you still haven’t cried,” Faye muttered crankily. “Typical male—you’re afraid to cry even when your best friend dies.”

Jet didn’t look at her. “I forgot how to cry a long time ago.”

“Who would it hurt?” Faye continued, as though unhearing. “What am I gonna do—run off and tattle to your schoolmates?”

“Faye,” Jet began slowly. “I’ve been to enough funerals, and the thing they say at each one is to let everyone handle grief in their own way.” He glared at her. “I never told you to kwitcher bawlin’, did I? Would it really make you feel that much better if I sobbed? You _like_ to see grown men cry, don’t you, Faye?”

Faye balled her hands into fists. “Yes, it would make me feel better! Sometimes I think I’m the only one in the solar system who’s mourning Spike.”

“You’re not all alone,” Jet said tiredly. “Don’t get a complex.”

“You said you didn’t care what happened to him.”

“I lied, okay? I said I didn’t care because I didn’t want to care. Look, what do you want me to do? Mutilate myself, not eat for a week? I’ll do it, just to get you off my back!”

Tears ran down her cheeks. “I guess..I wish..I wish I had a girlfriend to talk to. I guess I just want someone to cry with me.”

“I told you, I forgot how to.” Gently, he continued, “But I’m miserable, and you’re miserable, too. That’ll have to do. You can do the crying for both of us.”

No one joined Jet and Faye in person at the memorial service aboard the ship, in a spare cabin.

Jet knelt before the memorial tablet and candles, and spoke his remembrances first. “Um, Julia, I didn’t know you except through Spike’s descriptions, but he seemed to think the world of ya, and he wasn’t the kind who was easily impressed…Spike, um, you were a good partner. We had some great times together. I’ll never forget those days. The ship..the _Bebop_..well, it feels empty without you.”

Now it was Faye’s turn to kneel and speak. “Julia, both of us, well, have feelings for Spike, but regardless of that, I think we could’ve been good friends. It would have been nice having another woman around. I have a feeling that like me, you’ve been deprived of female friendships for years. I told Jet you were an angel from the underworld or a devil from Paradise. Hope you’re an angel in Paradise now.

“Spike, I hope you and Julia rest easy. That no one causes you trouble anymore. And I’m sorry—” She looked down and shook her head. “—I’m sorry it took me so long to realize what you mean to me.”

Time soon found them at the graveyard. The one where, not long ago, two lovers had reunited only to find tragedy.

Faye lit up a cigarette.

“Faye!” Jet scolded, his patience worn thin. “This is a funeral! Try for at least some measure of dignity!”

Faye blushed, throwing the cigarette to the ground and stomping it out. “Well, at least I didn’t hire that kookamentical preacher!”

“That’s ecumenical, and not only did we hire him because he was the most cost effective—”

“Cheapest.”

“Cheapest. But we hired him because he caters to all religions, and we couldn’t decide whether Spike was Christian, Jewish, or Buddhist.”

“Or atheist.”

“He seemed agnostic, to tell you the truth,” Jet remarked.

The preacher said a few, well, _odd_ words—he was a bargain rate preacher, after all. He talked of nirvana, of the Eightfold Path, of the adoration of Krishna, of the Messiah--who may or may not have already come--and the resurrection and the life. Faye’s mind wandered—was Spike resurrected? What happened to his soul? The thought of him being in Hell disturbed her profoundly. And the thought of him simply ceasing to exist saddened her with hurtful pangs like the sadness one felt when seeing someone’s beloved pet had become roadkill. Or was his soul to be recycled and reincarnated into a baby? She might meet a decidedly younger Spike one day. But she would not recognize him and he would not remember her. Could he have made it to Heaven? She kept her fingers crossed. _Please, please have mercy on his soul,_ she found herself praying. _He could be such a bastard, but he really wasn’t so bad._

All this time, Jet stood next to her, his arm around her shoulders. Faye didn’t know whether he did it to give her comfort, or to comfort himself. Didn’t really matter, she supposed. She was just grateful for the support.

At the end of the preacher’s talk, Faye placed a solitary red rose in each casket, not realizing how appropriate it was as a symbol of Spike and Julia’s love. Shortly thereafter, the two lovers were committed to the ground, resting under a dual headstone that read, “Together in death as they never could be in life.”

After the burial, Faye embarrassed Jet once more by picking a fight with the preacher.

“Okay, smartypants, answer me this,” Faye began. “If there is a God, why is He screwing around with my life?”

“To teach—”

“To teach me a lesson, sure. I spend all my time looking for a place of belonging. Finally, I learned my lesson. Spike is where I belong. But then he’s taken from me. He’s killed just when I realize I want him. What kind of God would pull tricks like that? Is my life some kind of screwy game to Him?”

“Answers aren’t easy at time such as these.” He held up a hand to stop Faye from interrupting. “But sometimes we live through struggles so we can mature.”

“Yeah, yeah. Well, I’m through. I’m through with God. I don’t believe in Him.”

“If you don’t believe in Him, then why are you so mad at Him? That which does not exist cannot be responsible for your problems.”

Faye sullenly lit up a cigarette.

“I think you believe in God, my dear,” the preacher reiterated. “You’re just professing disbelief to get back at Him. You do realize you can either be destroyed by Mr. Spiegel’s death, or allow it to enable you to mature.”

“I almost _was_ destroyed,” Faye said thoughtfully, more to herself, remembering her suicide attempt. “Perhaps I still will be.” She stared at the ground, kicking a rock. “How much do we owe you? Jet, get over here. Let’s pay this man.”

_With Spike, I would’ve been second best to Julia. If I get something going with Jet, would I be second best to Alisa?_

_Maybe if I just get out of here for awhile,_ Faye thought, lying awake in Spike’s bed. _Take a ride. Go for a walk. It’s not the safest time of night in this neighborhood, but I can handle it._

She got up and went to her personal ship, the _Redtail_. She was doing a last minute check when she heard Jet’s voice behind her. “Going somewhere?”

She jumped. “What, have you got a twenty-four hour guard on me?”

“Faye, why do you leave all the time? You always end up back here, so what’s the point?”

Faye lit a cigarette. “I wasn’t gonna _leave_ leave..just, you know, take a spin.” He stared at her. “Well, I..uh, that’s what I was plannin’ to do. Want to..go for a walk?”

“What’re you, crazy? At this time of night?”

“Okay. I won’t go anywhere. Tonight. But I’m not gonna be a bird in a gilded cage forever.” She walked past Jet. She sighed. “Oh, it feels _great_ to be wanted.”

“Stop grumbling.”

Suddenly, Faye stopped. “Hey, Jet, will I always be second best?”

“Second best ain’t so bad,” Jet said philosophically. “Depends on how many contestants there are. If you’re second out of a hundred, you’re doin’ pretty darn good.”

“Have you ever been second best?”

He nodded. “With Alisa. She’d rather stay with what’s-his-face then get back together with me. I can’t compete with him, even if he is a deadbeat. He’s young and good-looking. Why you askin’ me this anyway?”

Faye shrugged. “I want to know I’m not alone in being a reject.”

“Aw, Faye—”

She held up a hand. “Don’t say anything. I know what I am. Spike made that clear.”

“Faye, Spike was a man obsessed. He had tunnel vision. I told him repeatedly to forget Vicious. Forget Julia even. But the pig-headed lunkhead wouldn’t listen. Finally, I just had to let him go.”

“You could’ve stopped him.” It was not an accusation. Just a statement.

“No, I couldn’t have! That’s the point! I had to let him make his own mistakes. If I let Alisa make her own mistakes, maybe she wouldn’t have left.”

“What about me? Are you gonna let me make my own mistakes?”

“You’re even more lunkheaded than Spike. How am I gonna be able to stop you?”

“Was that Spike’s tragic flaw?”

“What?” Jet wondered.

“Being a lunkhead.”

“No, I mean, what do you mean by tragic flaw?” Jet clarified.

“Like in Shakespeare’s tragedies. Hamlet’s was procrastination, or so this Shakespeare _otaku_ once told me.”

“This whole thing is a tragedy,” Jet remarked. “If he’d listened to me—”

“Or listened to me,” Faye added. “Didn’t you try to tell him that other time, too? When Vicious threw him out the window? It was almost like a preview of what just happened. It was strange..I found him lying in a puddle of blood and shards of colored glass. I thought he was dead—I didn’t see how anyone could survive what he’d been through.”

“Yeah, those were the days,” Jet remarked, causing Faye to raise a quizzical eyebrow. “Any injury you could throw at Spike, he’d bounce back from. Should’ve seen it was just a matter of time before he stopped bouncing.”

Faye shook her head. “I couldn’t believe he was still alive, nonetheless awake.”

“He was awake?”

“Yeah, and he said to me—gasped really—he asked me to kill him.”

“What?”

“He said, ‘Kill me now. I’m gonna die anyway.’ Then he passed out, and you showed up. As far as I’ve been able to gather, he had no memory of the incident. The last thing he remembered was falling. Jet—I don’t think Spike ever had a real hold on life. I think he always wanted to be through with it in a hurry.”

“He told me he had no fear of death.”

“He sure musta been confident he was going to a better place. I hope he was right about that, ‘cause he sure didn’t act like a saint.”

“Well, who says you have to be a saint?”

“You know what’s another tragedy? I saved Julia’s life! What for? Just so she could get shot in a different setting?”

“Did you know who she was when you saved her?”

“No. What’s it matter?”

“Why’d you do it?”

Faye nearly growled. “Because. I’m. _Maturing_!”

“They’re okay, Faye. Both Julia and Spike are okay now. They won’t have any troubles any more.”

“Are you sure? Because I worry about Spike. He’s dead, but I worry about him.” A large tear began its roll down her cheek. Jet caught it with a bandaged finger. Faye smiled. “Look at you—your hand’s all cut up, your leg’s all shot up. You’re a walking wreck.”

Jet folded his arms behind his head. “I like to think of myself as being like a broken-in pair of someone’s favorite blue jeans.” A call came in. Jet took it. It was the Doctor. 

Not feeling like listening in, Faye wandered off, finding herself in Spike’s cabin staring at that small photo collection.

Looking for Faye, Jet passed by Spike’s cabin. He paused. The light was on. Faye was in there again. She had been sleeping there, Jet knew, and he let her, reasoning he should keep quiet about it if it was something that made her feel better. He could hear her walking about...pacing, perhaps.

And suddenly she was shouting. “Damn selfish son of a bitch! You finally got what you wanted!”

The sound of glass shattering.

Jet burst into the room. A bottle of cologne was in pieces and puddles on the floor, and the scent was becoming overpowering. “Faye, you’ve got to stop throwing stuff around!”

She looked at him, red-faced and helpless. “Well, what am I supposed to do?”

Jet shook his head. “It’s gonna reek in here forever.”

Faye sighed, almost happily. “Good. It reminds me of him.”

“From what I heard just a moment ago, one would think you hated him.”

“Oh, I do hate him,” Faye explained deliriously. “I hate him because I love him.”

Jet cocked a puzzled eyebrow at her. “You’re not making any sense, woman.”

“Don’t give me that. I _know_ you understand.”

Jet leaned against the doorway. “I came here to tell you I found out something talking with the Doc.”

Faye sat on Spike’s bed, her arms wrapped around her knees, which were drawn up to her chin. “What?” she grunted finally.

“Spike took down the whole Red Dragons syndicate when he died.”

“The whole thing?” Faye asked incredulously, looking up.

“Yeah, apparently, he hit it in its Achilles’ heel. With Vicious gone, they had no one outstanding, charismatic leader type to take over. The police rounded up many of them. The others I guess have gone looking for work elsewhere.”

“So Spike’s not just some suicidal wretch,” Faye said reluctantly. “He’s a hero.”

“Yeah. I also found out if he hadn’t taken out Vicious, Vicious may have even targeted us. So you see, Spike did care about us.”

Faye sighed. “He cared about you. He didn’t give a damn about me.”

Jet made as if to say something, but Faye held up a silencing hand and continued. “It’s bad enough to fall in love with someone who loves somebody else, and cares for you only as a friend. But I fell for someone, who besides loving somebody else, didn’t care whether I lived or died.”

“He found you that time you were under the spell of the Scratch cult.”

“You told him to find me, didn’t you?”

“I, uh—”

“I thought so. Go ahead, try and think of some examples of how he cared for me.”

Jet knew there must be some illustrations he could give her, but his mind went blank.

Faye sighed. “I told you so.”

“Look, Faye, I’m having a hard time thinking right now, but Spike cared about people more than he let on. He just didn’t want anyone knowing it. It made it tough for the bad guys to manipulate him, by taking hostages or threatening a population…”

Faye fell on to her side, and let her hand drag across the floor.

“But he cared. Sometimes I even suspected he felt too much. Stella and Electra and VT apparently thought he cared. He let go of a bounty once or twice because he had pity.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Faye conceded, sounding like she was yawning.

Silence came over Spike’s cabin. Jet stood by awkwardly, staring at the heartbroken Faye. “I care, you know,” he said finally.

Another moment of silence, then Faye spoke. “That time Vicious was holding me hostage, you didn’t care.”

“Oh, that? That was in the early days, Faye! We’re friends _now_ , right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I wouldn’t act the same way _now_ if it happened again.”

“Good,” she said enigmatically.

Jet scratched his head, wondering what to say next. But apparently, the woman had made up her mind to be inconsolable. “Well, I really believe Spike did care about you, as a friend and partner, if nothing else.” He turned away.

“Jet!”

He looked back.

Faye was sitting up on the bed. “I care, too. About what happens to you.”

Jet smiled.

Faye wondered why Jet was so insistent she stick around. Was he merely concerned for her as a friend, as he said, not wanting her to roam the galaxy like a “lost pup”? Or was it he himself who was lonely? Had he, perhaps—Faye hardly dared to think it—grown to love her? Did he still see her as just a friend?

So Jet was going to make it a challenge to escape. Faye could handle that. Tonight was the night she had planned her escape. She drugged Jet’s drink so that he would sleep instead of spy on her.

She made it to her ship. And stopped herself. _What am I doing? Where am I going?_ She realized she was fleeing with no planned destination, fleeing because it was the response she had programmed into her brain. _When faced with a problem, one’s instinct is to fight or flee. Surely I’m tough enough not to choose flee every time._

_Is there anything out there to go to? What about Jet? He’s all alone, just like I am. I’d be a rat to desert him now._ Always before, there had been someone left behind, like Ed and Ein, to keep him company. Now all he would have for companions were computers, television, and his music collection. From a vision of a lonely Jet listening to bebop and blues, Faye’s imagination morphed into a glimpse of her young self in memory, saying to some comrade, “Friends never desert each other.”

_I said that? I used to be so.. **nice**._

“Well, don’t just stand there.” It was Jet’s voice. She whirled around. “If you’re going, go.”

“How did you--?”

“Faye, I’ve been around the block once or twice. You can’t fool me _that_ easily.”

Faye stood frozen. 

“I know when it’s time to let somebody go,” Jet continued. “I let Spike go. I let everyone in my life go—Alisa, Ed, Ein. Now I guess it’s your turn.”

“Jet—”

“Well, get your sorry ass out of here! And don’t come back this time!”

He was actually going to deny her the option of coming back? Talk about tough. Sometimes Faye needed to fly, but she liked having a place to return to. “Jet…”

“What?” he demanded impatiently.

“I don’t want to go.” She sounded like a scared child.

“Then why’d you try to drug me?”

“I changed my mind, okay? I _was_ gonna leave, but I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

“Does it matter why?” There hung a heavy silence for a couple of minutes, then Faye asked quietly, “You wouldn’t come after me this time?”

Jet sighed. “‘I’m not chasing you around, wasting my precious energy.’”

Faye recognized the lyrics he had paraphrased. “‘Give me a reason to stay here, and….’”

Jet perked up. “You know that song?”

“Yeah.” Faye walked up to him, putting her hands on his shoulders. One felt like metal, where his robotic arm was fused to his flesh. Through the other shoulder, she felt blood coursing.

“That’s a classic. One of my favorites.”

“‘I don’t want to leave you,’” she continued, leaning her head against his chest. “I mean, leave you alone. Er, lonely.”

“Is that good enough a reason to stay?” Jet asked, tentatively putting a hand on the small of her back.

“It’ll do for now.”

Faye and Jet were eating a supper of chocolate bars and cheese puffs while watching TV. “After we pick up the bounty money, we can get some real food,” Jet was saying. Today, a wanted man had literally stumbled into the two. So they planned on dividing the money between them. “We’ll get—I dunno, meat.”

A female talk show host came on. She claimed her name was Hermione. “Hey, ain’t that Judy?” Jet asks.

“Yeah. I wondered what happened to her.”

Judy was talking with a man who looked to be in his thirties. He had shoulder length brown hair in back, but no bangs up front. “My guest today is Gerald Carter,” Judy announced chipperly. “He can channel dead people—for a price, of course. Well, let’s see how that works. We’re going to try to contact—” Judy peered at the cue cards. “—My Aunt Gertrude. Aunt Gertrude? Why her?”

“Oh, I’m getting someone,” Gerald said excitedly, rubbing his hands together. “An older lady...She says she doesn’t know why you want to speak to her. You never wrote or called when I was alive. Not even a thank you note for your birthday presents.”

“Aunt Gertrude, I--”

Gerald blushed. “She says, ‘I see you’re still using your boobs to get you attention, instead of your brains.’”

Judy whacked him with her forearm.

“What? _She_ said it, not me! The opinions expressed by the dead do not necessarily reflect those of the psychic!”

Jet laughed. “That girl needs herself a good editor.”

Faye was staring at the bottom of the screen. “Look, there’s his address. He’s right on the asteroid we’re heading to. Jet, let’s go see him after we pick up the money,” she suggested eagerly.

“Huh?”

“I want to find out if Spike is all right.”

“He’s dead. You call that all right?”

“But he has a soul, right? I want to know if his soul is okay.” Jet still looked doubtful. “Well, if you won’t go,” Faye said. “I’ll go alone.”

“Not without me,” Jet decided. He folded his arms behind his head. “Man, each time we get a little money, we blow it all on something foolish.”

Faye herself felt doubtful when she walked into the channeler’s den. He had her and Jet sit before him, while he sat in lotus position on a cushion. “Tell me who it is you are seeking. And remember, you only have a few minutes or the price doubles. Now give me his or her name.”

“Spike Spiegel,” Faye said.

“What does he got—the yellow pages listings for the dead?” Jet muttered to her.

“Sshh!”

Carter was silent a moment, then said, “Spike acknowledges you..Jet..Faye. But he wonders why you went to such trouble to contact him. He’s sorry about the abrupt way he left both of you, but he was distraught, and he..sucks..at goodbyes. Hmm, I didn’t know souls could use the word _suck_. He says, ‘I don’t know how I got here, but it sure is better than where I thought I was going.’ There’s a girl there with him.”

“J—” Faye began. Jet whacked her into silence.

“Julie…” Faye frowned as Carter spoke this. “No, Julia,” he corrected. “They are happy together. Oh, this is something different—Julia wants to talk, too. She says, Faye, it was awfully sweet of you to have them buried together and she wishes she could pay you back. Spike says don’t waste time mourning him. He’s free now. He says, ‘See you, space cowboys.’” 

“I wanted more time with him,” Faye remarked on the walk back to the ship.

“Just be glad you did hear from him and that he and Julia are all right,” Jet advised. “Even though I still think the whole thing is malarkey. There’s ways so-called psychics put the pieces together, you know. Like when he heard you begin to say Julia’s name.”

“Oh, don’t be such a spoil sport. There’s just..so much I wanted to ask Spike. To tell him, you know?” She thought she heard Jet sniff, and paused..

“What?” he wondered.

She lifted a finger to his cheek and dabbed a solitary tear. Then she kissed him underneath his eye. “So you do cry,” she observed.

“Huh, you call that crying?”

Faye was outside the ship, staring at the night sky of the asteroid Tijuana. Jet came up behind her. “I guess there is a God,” Faye said, still looking up. “But I’m not angry anymore.”

“I got something.” Jet handed her a cardboard box.

“It’s..it’s moving,” Faye observed with caution. “What is it?” She opened up the top and a French Bulldog puppy’s head poked out. “It’s...a dog,” Faye said flatly.

“His name is Spike Junior,” Jet continued excitedly. “I got him a spike collar and everything.”

Faye noticed a crescent shaped patch of white on the puppy’s black face. It was in the same spot as Jet’s metal plate. “This thing is _Spike’s_ ‘junior’? He looks more like your son, Mister Black Dog!”

“Say hello to Faye, SJ.” Spike Jr. licked her nose and wagged his tail.

“Well, I have to say, right there those are more kisses than Spike Sr. ever gave me,” Faye remarked wryly. She hesitantly put a hand on the dog’s head, and gave him a quick pat as though it were a totally new thing to her. “Well, I guess he is sorta cute.” She handed the box back to Jet. “You named a _dog_ after Spike. Knowing how he felt about pets, I’m sure that he’s just thrilled.”

“He doesn’t hate pets anymore, where he’s at,” Jet rationalized. “Where he’s at, everybody loves everybody.”

Faye pictured Spike surrounded by cuddly puppies and kittens. She snickered. “Serves him right.”

They went back in the ship, Faye touching Jet’s arm lightly, and the puppy yapping.


End file.
